Not only is the rain playing havoc with the growing season, it’s also interfering with work.
I write stuff, and being freelance, I only get paid when the work is published. I have a contract with a sporting venue and they use my work when they have an event. Trouble is, the weather has curtailed a few this year and this week could go the same way.
It takes me three days to get my work together and I should get this week’s stuff completed today. But, if the downpours that are forecast materialise, the event will be cancelled. No event means no magazine needs to be published and no payment for me.
That’s three days wasted. Three days I could have allocated to brewing beer, getting things sorted at the allotment, or just sitting back and thumbing through my wife’s copy of ‘Fifty Shades Of Grey’ to see what all the fuss is about.
Anyhow, the rain did relent yesterday, so I spent the evening at the plot, trying to get things in shape. Clearly, if there’s one thing this weather is good for, it’s growing grass.
Swathes of vibrant green stuff had begun to infiltrate the plot, evidently growing about four times as quick as anything I’ve planted and actually wanted to grow. The petrol strimmer was deployed to stem the suffocation.
I also hoed through the sweetcorn which have begun to get a foothold. They weren’t looking too bad bearing in mind I was very late with these, following the demise of the original seedlings. A lovely shade of green.
The potato bed, on the other hand, looks worse every time I visit.
Oh, actually that lot aren’t mine. That’s the neighbours plot. Green with envy? Just a shade.
So Mother Nature is causing me grief, both at the plot and with my work - shafting me left, right and centre. Not too dissimilar to what’s happening in my wife’s book, by all accounts...